


Don't open the door

by Beethelesda



Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: (not Kid Loki), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Doctor/Patient, M/M, Mental Instability, Therapy, implied parent/child incest, underage loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-24
Updated: 2013-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-27 12:04:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beethelesda/pseuds/Beethelesda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>«The doctor who was here before me noted that you have a phobia of... closed doors. Does the closed door of this study scare you?»<br/>«N-no. I'm afraid only when I am... outside. When I'm supposed to walk into a room».</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't open the door

**Author's Note:**

> Jyväskylä is a beautiful city in Findland.
> 
> All the names are changed to fit the setting.  
> Thor becomes Teuvo (which is Finnish for Theodore, much recalling the Thor sound)  
> Loki is Leevi Larpoika (where Larpoika means "son of Lars" - and Lars is consequentially Laufey)
> 
> It is actually the first time of me writing something in English after ages so please be patient, I'm dumb, I just wanted to give it a try! (◡‿◡✿)

His days were all the same.  
There was hardly anything that distinguished one from another.  
Everything was white, everything was sterile, everything smelled of detergent flavored with vanilla.  
The lights did not change, was it day or night, until they died.   
A sizzling, white neon light killed tones and muffled colors.  
Outside the large windows there was snow.  
Even the snow was white, always white.

They made him get up early, required him to wash from head to toe and get dressed. Then a quick check to the pupils, the blood pressure, the mouth, as if he was a horse in a market. Then they marked his folder with strong pen marks and hung it back at the end of the bed.  
They tried to give a more accommodating look to his room by hanging a picture. There were drawn flowers but you could see that they were printed and not brushed.  
He had turned it against the wall.  
For more than a year.  
And no one had ever turned it back over.

He had made no friends.  
It was impossible to make friends there.  
Many were silent, with their heads sunk between their shoulders, sometimes swinging.  
Others raved too much and were impatient for someone to approach them and lavish all their gibbering.  
Others never even rose from their beds.  
Few were normal. Normal was an adjective almost unusable in there.  
They were the ones that lasted less.  
At one point they were packing and had relatives coming to pick them up, happily taking them back home.  
He watched them leave, with one hand resting against the door and the other motionless at his side.  
He pleaded with his eyes for them took him away.  
He always remained.

He wasn't crazy  
He never screamed at night, he'd rather curl up and tremble, when someone else did.  
He remembered his name, date of birth, his own home.  
He liked to read aloud and rode well and smoothly.  
His only acquaintance, a nurse named Voitto, whose waistline resembled that of a small satellite, often asked him to read something. He'd sit on a chair - which creaked loudly - and listened to him reading. Anything, even chapters of different books separated from each other.

He wasn't crazy.  
He just couldn't manage to remember.

Two years earlier something happened to him, something that had left no trace in his mind nor on his body. Something that grabbed him and threw him into a chasm of emptiness and horror.  
The palpable and compulsive terror of being alone.  
Alone in front of a door.  
A closed door.

" _Do not open the door._ "  
It was the only thing he remembered.  
He could not overcome that irrational panic, that unmotivated inability to safely open a door and enter the room, no matter its contents. He'd stay in front of a closed door and get stuck. He was left gasping, trembling, he hoped that someone would come for him to open it or find an alternative route.  
In his head there were no memories, there was nothing.  
It was as if it happened out of the blue.  
But the door, the closed door, the door which terrified him, it was there and madehis life unbearable.

There was just one person who came to visit regularly.  
He was a huge man, bald, his face was hard and had dark eyes. He always had a frown.  
His name was Lars and he was his father.  
On those occasions, he'd put on his heavy jacket and went sitting outside with him, on a bench among the snow.

Lars was a weird man.  
He spoke little, almost nothing. They sat together without saying a single word.  
Staring at the snow, white and still, and the countryside around Jyväskylä.  
They did not embrace, there was absolutely no touching. Lars had his hands in his pockets and simply stared ahead. He'd sometimes look at him with the back of his eye and, by any means, he'd ever tell him anything sweet, not even before he'd leave.

But he missed him, when he wasn't there and sitting on that bench in complete silence, it reassured him.  
He'd always have a sweet smile on his face, concealed in the collar of his jacket. He enjoyed the long minutes sitting next to him and it made him sad to see his father getting back on his black pickup and drive away.

  
Also that day, Lars came to visit.  
He showed up at the counter in the hall and signed some papers, leaving his ID to the nurse.  
Voitto announced him with a wink.  
«Leevi, your father is here».  
He quickly slipped in his jacket, green on the outside with a lining of soft lambskin.  
Lars nodded at him and led the way to the sliding doors.  
He brushed off the bench with a gloved hand - it had snowed that night - and sat down.  
Leevi crouched down beside him.

Jyväskylä gleamed from afar.  
The evening was faster, with the arrival of winter, and the city was lit up.  
It sizzled silently, glimmering, surrounded by gray skies and white snow. Few black trees, light poles and electrical wires straight as needles. Free roads, clear air.  
Leevi looked at his father for an instant.  
He wondered if he would ever go back home.  
Lars would always leave him there as if nothing ever happened, greeting him with a nod, as if he belonged to that place and not home. He came to the clinic without a regular basis, as if he was casually passing by.  
But Leevi said nothing.  
He was fearful.  
His father was a closed door, in his own way.  
And he was terrified of closed doors.

That night he asked for some downer, to help him get some sleep.

 

The new doctor caused quite a stir.  
That is to say, he made the environment livable and less overwhelming.  
The nurses whispered as he passed, giggling and adjusting their uniforms. The patients themselves, even the most closed ones, raised their heads to take a look at him.  
He was big, more than eight feet tall and he'd almost have to bend his head to pass through the doors. He had broad shoulders and big arms and a terrible red cardigan with leather patches on the elbows. He held it open on a white t-shirt, with the tag stapled crooked.  
 _Hei, nimeni on Teuvo. *****_  
He had nice hair, blonde, tucked in a bun on the back of his neck. Some of his hair had escaped and remained straight because of the electrifying friction with the cardigan. His large face was relaxed, had a high forehead and a nicely oval shape. He wore glasses, behind which he hid a pair of incredibly blue eyes. He was smiling from under his veil of blond beard and had a folder and a bunch of keys in his hand. He had replaced the snow boots with which he had arrived with an embarrassing pair of white plastic slippers and kept on quietly shuffling his feet. He immediately conveyed a sense of cheerfulness and calm.  
He looked like anything but a doctor.  
He even lost his way down the aisle and was surprised to have his name on a sign hanging on the door.   
The first thing he wanted to test was the coffee maker, then asked if he could have some pillows and a rug, because receiving patients on that aseptic sofa made him feel a dentist, more than a therapist.  
On the desk, next to the computer, he put two chipped cups with written  _hyvää huomenta! ******_  and the statue of a reindeer.

  
He opened the door with a gesture that instantaneously looked like home, like family, and smiled.  
Leevi jumped in surprise and found himself blushing.  
The doctor was holding his glasses hanged at the neck of his tee. He wore a blue flannel shirt with orange stripes and was barefoot, with odd socks. One was black and the other was blue.  
«Come in, come in», he said with a smile.  
He had a deep voice, proportionate to his whole figure. It was a dense, roaring sound that seemed to dig in and pull out the words. Yet it was not intimidating, it remembered the joyful barking of a large guard dog.  
He sat down on the carpet - that had finally been brought - leaning his back against the couch. He opened the folder and put on his glasses.  
«Leevi Larpoika, right?»  
He nodded. The doctor patted on the carpet next to him, but Leevi preferred to sit on the chair, his hands and knees drawn close together.  
«Would you enjoy some hot coffee?»  
«No, thank you».  
Leevi spoke softly and slowly, as if he was thinking deeply about each word.  
He was small and quite thin. Lean, flexible. His skin was the color of snow and every tone on him had faded. The only splashes of bright color were his black hair, unkempt and wild, and his green eyes. But he always held his look down and never stared at anyone directly. A pretty face, his body hidden inside a shapeless wool sweater with a skier painted over.  
«How old are you, Leevi?»  
He hesitated.  
«Isn't it... noted down?» he asked.  
The doctor smiled.  
«I have astigmatism, reading bothers me. Why don't you tell me?»  
«S-seventeen».  
«I'm your exact double!»  
Leevi did not smile.  
«You lived in Jyväskylä, right? Do you remember your home?»  
«Yes, Doctor».  
He sucked some air in his cheeks and then snorted, smiling. He had a slight hump on his nose due to wearing glasses and his smiles were opened just on the upper lip, with white teeth nibbling his lower lip.  
«Call me Teuvo. Do I look like a doctor?»  
«No, Doctor. Not at all».  
«Teuvo».  
«Doctor».  
«Tell me about your house».

Leevi looked down.  
«It's small. It has a garden on the front, big enough for dad's pickup. It closes with a high gate. The door is made of wood. As soon as you enter there is the living room with the fireplace. And the kitchen. Going up the stairs, there is my parent's bedroom and a bathroom. Then you go up again and there is another bathroom...»  
«...and your bedroom?»  
One mild twitch.  
«I-I do not remember it».  
Teuvo made no pressure.  
«The doctor who was here before me noted that you have a phobia of... closed doors. Does the closed door of this study scare you?»  
Leevi turned to look.  
«N-no. I'm afraid only when I am... outside. When I'm supposed to walk into a room».  
«What did the previous doctor use to ask you?»  
«He asked me how I was and if I wanted to try hypnosis».  
«And what you answered?»  
«I'm fine, no thanks».  
Teuvo laughed.  
«Your birthday comes this December, right? When you'll turn eighteen will you sign to leave or will you stay here?»  
Leevi looked down at his toes.  
«I do not know».

At the second session, Teuvo was wearing a sweater that resembled a pajamas and Leevi sat back in his chair.  
At the third session, Teuvo had a denim shirt rolled up on his muscular forearms and Leevi tried to sit on the carpet with him.  
At the fourth session they were both resting with their backs against the couch, drinking hot coffee from the chipped cups.  
The questions Teuvo made sounded more like entire conversations. Teuvo knew how to shuffle his cards very well. They started chatting about the snow, about that cute nurse with black curly hair. They'd slide on to Leevi's family, on his two elder brothers who were never seen often and his silent father. They'd also talk about the mother, whom Leevi never seemed to mention willingly. He called her by her name, Fredrika, and that was it. The discussion then turned on music, and then go down about Leevi's daily habits before arriving at the clinic. The school, studying. Fredrika worked all day, Lars had lost his job a few months ago and was often home. They were often home by themselves. Teuvo would never press too much and would begin to talk about books, instead.  
These were the moments in which Leevi fell in love.  
Teuvo had read many books, Leevi just as many. They exchanged opinions, recalled plots. And they'd pull out a bit too much, so much that, at times, a nurse knocked on the door, saying that another patient was waiting for the doctor.

Knowing Teuvo had moved him.  
It was just a tap, a slight creak.  
Yet he had begun to speak a little louder and sat with him comfortably without delay. He called him by his name, they drank together, he even looked at him into his eyes.  
Every now and then, he dared to smile.

  
A nurse knocked.  
The two of them were sitting together and were finishing their coffee, plunged in how books such as Jo Nesbø's managed to keep you with bated breath until the very end. Teuvo's voice was warm and soft and he was very excited.  
Leevi then looked at the closed door and thought  
«Don't open it, please. Do not open the door».  
Teuvo felt him shuddering.  
«Is everything okay, Leevi?»  
«D-don't open the door, p-please».  
«No? Why don't you want to open it?»  
He lowered his voice as to a whisper secret, with a deep tone and almost a guttural reverberation.  
«I... I don't want to see».  
«But you're inside the room. What don't you want to see?»  
«I don't know».  
«And if you were out, would you come in?»  
«I don't know».

  
At the next session, Teuvo came to pick him up directly from the common room.  
He escorted him safely to his study, and the door was closed.  
«You want to try and open it, Leevi?»  
«N-no».  
Teuvo took his right hand and entwined his fingers with his. Leevi's hand was small and white, his fingers barely visible under Teuvo's big hand.  
«Not even if we open it together?»  
He laid their hands on the knob and pressed slowly.  
Leevi kept looking at his hand, mesmerized.  
«This gesture... I've done that... before...»  
Teuvo laid his hands on his shoulders, warm, almost thaumaturgical.  
«Don't say a thing. Do what you feel, I'll follow you».

Leevi's green gaze got blurred.

He did not enter the doctor's office.  
It was his bedroom and it was dark, the wooden shutters were drawn and a thin trail of light poorly illuminated the surrounding.  
He took few, uncertain steps, then sat down on the bed and lay down.

He lay down on the carpet and dragged Teuvo upon him, running his hands on his arms and arching his back.   
He narrowed his eyes and moaned softly.  
Teuvo remained motionless, but his hands were shaking.  
Leevi moaned again, then turned his head toward the closed door.  
«D-don't open the door!» he said.

«Don't open the door, don't open it, mom..!»  
He held his breath.  
«Don't open... No- I don't want you to see me...»

«See what ...?» Teuvo crooned softly in his ear.  
Leevi turned to look at him.  
«That... I'm having sex. Sex with Lars».  
Teuvo stiffened and tightened his arms.  
«Is Lars your father, Leevi?»  
The boy closed his eyes and moaned again.  
«Yes. He fucks me. He fucks me instead of Fredrika».  
«Are you... consenting, Leevi?»  
«Yes. I'm enjoying it».  
Silence.  
«...a lot».

With all the good will and conscience in his body, Teuvo was unable to get up.  
He knew he'd better rise immediately, call back Leevi to conscience, warn a nurse, a lawyer, social worker ... but instead he stood there, crawling on hands and feet, with Leevi stretched under him.  
«Did your mother open the door, Leevi?»  
«No. But I had never been caught before. I was scared».  
«And you shifted into her. You are afraid to open doors to see what you've done. Do you feel guilty for doing so, Leevi? Are you ashamed of it?»  
«No».  
Leevi stared.

All that green was terrible to bear.  
Long, thick eyelashes, his relaxed face, his lips reddened and his hair spread on the carpet. Lean, soft hips underneath the sweater. Sweatpants tied only by a lanyard. Leevi still had his hands on his arms and smelled of bed, of things that you can not, you do not absolutely do.  
First of all because of the relationship between patient and therapist.  
Then because of the age gap.  
Then because the walls were thin.  
Then because there was no lube to use.  
Then because Leevi was a kid.  
Then he thought no more of it, at all.

Leevi had one hand resting on Teuvo's crotch, pressing softly. Rubbing slowly, he felt him growing fast, so much that the zipper soon became uncomfortable and his hips began to beg.  
Teuvo bit his mouth in a last attempt to get up and leave.  
He failed.  
Miserably.

Leevi breathed with his lips parted, his gaze blurred. He offered his neck, white, the jugular so clear under the skin. The neckline of the sweater left his clavicles bare. His slender fingers tightened around Teuvo's muscular forearms. He rubbed his knees clutched, before spreading his legs.  
«I miss it», he murmured. Teuvo was lost staring at him and could not hear that.  
He lifted a hand, shaking, placing the tip of his fingers under the edge of the sweater.  
Leevi's skin was cold and his belly taut and inviting.  
His hand stumbled into the small hollow of the navel, then passed on, running on the abdomen.  
He closed his eyes, resting, with his full palm pressed on Leevi's chest. He could feel his breath, slow and steady and his whole body, so small that he could almost take it all from thumb to pinkie.  
His head suddenly felt heavy. He rested his forehead against Leevi's and closed his eyes. The boy's fingers ventured on his golden stubble, stealing the air from his mouth. His breath was sweet and warm.

Teuvo's desire jounced.  
At that moment he could still stop, still get up.  
He failed again.  
Miserably.

He took his breath away and forced his tongue into his mouth, eating his air and lips. Leevi moaned. Teuvo sucked his tongue and bit his swollen lips. He licked his chin, snapped at his neck.  
He took off his sweater with a smack and threw it away. Wasted no time. He grabbed his pants and pulled them off with a grunt, overwhelming both underwear and socks.  
Naked, snow-white, glabrous. He grabbed his hips and pressed his fingers, sinking in the soft buttocks.  
Leevi had learned how to be abused. He obeyed, moaning softly, with a faint smile on his red, red lips.  
He would have surely looked magnificent, covered in bite marks.

Also Teuvo's sweater flew away and he lowered his pants to his knees. He then took Leevi by his hips and lifted him up. With one hand he supported his back. Teuvo bit his skin voraciously, eating him along the line of the sternum, rising up to his chest. Bit his nipple and sucked the other, loud, snapping his tongue when he parted. He wrapped his free hand around Leevi's arousal, angrily jerking him off.  
He looked up. Leevi's face was bent over him, hidden by his black unkempt curls. He was moaning with his eyes shut, whining like a little bitch. His hips desperately followed his doctor's hand.  
Teuvo held tight onto him and scratched his white back. The boy raised his voice, sounding incredibly feminine.

Teuvo felt that Leevi belonged to him in an extremely violent way.  
He was his. He had conducted him there, through the door, where things that he hadn't dared to say were waiting for him.  
He had opened the way and followed him. That was his place, on all fours on the carpet, with his cock in his hand, it was his and no one else's. He was the one that woke him up. Not the therapist before, nor any other doctor. Fucking him was a right, now, a reward.  
Leevi's white body suddenly tensed and he knocked his thin fingers in Teuvo's shoulders.

He came in his hand, still sinking in, leaking and whining. Teuvo soiled his fingers, trying to retain the thick fluid as much as possible. Then he ventured between his soft buttocks, looking for that sweet spot where even Leevi was female and was calling for him. Twitching, spasmodic and feverish.  
Tight, very tight.  
He clogged up his mouth with his tongue, silencing his intrusion with his thumb until the end of it.  
Tight, very tight.  
Too tight. It couldn't possibly be enough, he risked tearing him apart, and that wasn't worth the risk.  
«I wish I could get inside», Teuvo whispered in his ear.  
As a response, he received a high-pitched, pleading whining.

He turned Leevi prone, chest pressed against the carpet. He started rubbing his cock against his opening. Awfully close to taking him, so much that it hurt. He allowed himself to press against him a little with the tip of his cock, encountering considerable resistance. But Leevi's moaning was so inviting that it was hard to stop.  
A few thrusts more, a few more, but he couldn't get in, so he sought solace in the delicious friction against his ass.

He turned him back, allowing him to curl around his body. He leaned his forehead against the hollow of his slender neck, pressing his pulsing erection against his soft dick. He pushed his hands on Leevi's chest and rubbed it, causing a long series of sweet, soft moans.

A nurse knocked on the door.  
Leevi suddenly froze and turned his head.  
«D-don't open the door!», he said.

**Author's Note:**

> * Hei, nimeni on Teuvo - in Finnish means "Hello, my name is Teuvo".
> 
> ** hyvää huomenta! - in Finnish means "Good Morning!"


End file.
